A Forever of Reaching
by ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo
Summary: The stories of a boy who wants to set the world on fire and the girl who is thrust into the shadows. A collection of e/e one-shots.
1. He Will Never Forget

**Hey! So this is basically going to be a junk drawer for all my Les Mis one-shots. About 99.9999% of them are Enjonine, so yeah. **

**As I post a chapter, I'll take the original story down. I'm going in chronological order, so I guess you can see how my writing has improved since I started writing! **

**(since I'm vain I'll be posting the original reviews at the bottom as well)**

_**Title:**_He Will Never Forget

_**Summary: **_Some of the accounts of the final battle at the barricade were not entirely correct. For, as luck would have it, there were two other survivors who went down in Marius's memory as being dead. One of them was only a subject of his morbid dream, the other was saved by a drunk's insane idea.

_**Rating:**_K+

**All things in italics belong to Victor Hugo, not me, whereas the normal text belongs to me alone! **

* * *

The barricade never lost hope, not even when Enjolras spoke of the nonexsistant possibility of survival that came with their fighting. Despite their hope that radiated in every crevice in the walls, every piece of wood on the barricade, and every cobblestone on the street, most of the men were unable to sleep the last night of their lives.

A youth of whom none of Les Amis d'ABC seemed to know went to the smaller barricade to try to get some sleep. He squirmed into a small space between the barricade and the wall, for it was all-too often that he'd been forced to slumber in more uncomfortable places. He looked up at the stars, mostly bright but for spots in the sky that were covered in factory smoke. Here, through the smell of blood and death, everything seemed cleaner than the boy was accustomed to. Though the heat was strong in this time of the summer, such an issue was easily resolved by unbuttoning a few of the top buttons on his smock. Now comfortable, the boy allowed a little smile to grace his pretty but dirty face. He could get used to this little niche on this battleground. It was a good place to die.

It was with that thought that the peculiar boy allowed himself to be pulled into the trance of sleep, the dreams of which consisted of times from long ago, times of warm beds and gifts on Christmas.

* * *

_However, Marius thought of the smaller barricade and went to inspect it. It was unguarded except by the lamp flickering on the pavestones. The Mondetour alleyway, and the small streets running into it, the Petite-Truanderie and the Rue de Cygne, were entirely quiet._

_As he was leaving, having concluded his inspection, he heard his own name faintly spoken in the darkness._

_"Monsieur Marius!"_

_He started, recognizing the husky voice that two hours previously had called to him through the gate in the Rue Plumet. But now it was scarcely more than a whisper. _

_He looked about him, but, seeing no one, thought that he had imagined it, that it was no more than an hallucination to be added to the many extraordinary vicissitudes of that day. He started to move away from the barricade and the voice repeated:_

_"Monsieur Marius!"_

_This time he knew that he had heard it, but although he peered hard into the darkness, he could see nothing. _

_"I'm at your feet," the voice said. _

_Looking down, Marius saw a dark shape crawling over the cobbles towards him. The gleam of the lamp was enough to enable him to make out a smock, a pair of torn corduroy trousers, two bare feet, and a _trail of something wet upon the ground_. A _pale_ face was turned towards him and the voice asked:_

_"Don't you recognize me?"_

_"No."_

_"Éponine," _The voice said, and through the darkness Marius could see a movement much like someone removing a cap, and shadows in the dark suggested the cascading of hair as it tumbled to cover the shoulders of the smock.

_Marius bent hastily down and saw that it was indeed an unhappy girl clad in a man's clothes._

_"How do you come to be here? What are you-" _Marius began, and she sadly realized that he was to scold her and force her to leave. However, in the middle of his words, his foot caught on a piece of debris and he gave a little yelp before crashing to the ground. Startled, Éponine lept to her feet.

"Monsieur Marius? Marius!" She cried, poking his motionless body with her toe. "What on earth have I done?"

Marius moaned a little, allowing the smallest weight to be lifted off Éponine's damned heart. However, her brows still stitched with worry and her lips turned down in an unsatisfactory manner. Now that she knew he was alright, she found herself to be quite cross with him. How dare he fall! They could have a last conversation together, which in Éponine's mind would play out quite nicely, perhaps with her earning a kiss from him. She knelt down to his side to scold him, but when she did she saw a terrible dark liquid that she knew far too well.

"Help!" She screamed, her voice reaching a girly pitch that it hadn't since she was quite small. "Somebody help! Monsieur Marius is hurt!"

Calling out the voice of the barricade's savior proved more effective than she perhaps had wanted it to be. Footsteps pounded the pavement and lanterns came into view, blinding her with their sudden light. She flinched and covered her face protectively with a scratched arm.

A man came forward with a bandage, one of the students with whom Marius was friends, and he dropped to Marius's side. Relieved, Éponine made her way to push through the crowd, but someone stopped her with a gentle yet firm hand.

"Who are you?" He asked, and she recognized the voice of the leader. "Having the urchin here is one thing, but a woman is another."

She pulled back, surprised and flattered for a moment. She clung to that one second that someone thought that she was too pretty to be a boy; it may have been the only compliment she'd received since Cosette was taken away and she lost her father's love. Then she remembered how she'd unbuttoned the top buttons of the smock in the heat, promiscuously displaying what little cleavage she had. And her hair tumbled out of the cap, framing her face and bringing out what innocence remained through the dirt. She drew up her chin, much like she had when she confronted the Patron-Minette at the house on Rue Plumet.

"And why," She began, her voice back to its regular husky tone, "is that? I will let you know, Monsieur, that I've faced a great many brushes with death, far more than you'll receive before death claims you here! Perhaps I'm tired of such a life, did you think of that? Or maybe, I just wanted to see something grand, like the people fighting for freedom. Plus, had my hair been beneath my cap and my smock properly done up, you would not have recognized me as a woman! Perhaps I should take this as an insult, Monsieur, and for insulting me so cruelly you should allow me the right to stay!" Éponine pouted sweetly at the handsome leader, whose stony face did not crack at this.

A man stepped forward with a lantern to look at her closely. She vaguely recognized this student as the one with whom Marius was residing. The one with whom she'd come to the barricades. He laughed a kind laugh, and her heart ached knowing that this handsome young man would soon meet his doom with the rest of them. The sooner the better. "Oh, alas Mademoiselle, you are quite mistaken. When I saw you waiting for Marius I thought you looked awful girly to be a workman, but it was when you spoke with that voice of yours I thought that you must be a man! I hope you take no offense, for I understand that such a voice must come from an unhappy childhood filled with liquor and cigarette smoke."

"You are not entirely wrong, Monsieur." Éponine said, a little smile gracing her chapped lips.

"But the point remains. Courferyac, if I may," The leader intervened, setting his hand atop the shoulder of the kind young man, who stepped back immediately. "Citizen, already a harmless bystander has met his doom! It is bad enough that Gavroche insists upon staying-"

As he said the name of the urchin, Enjolras noted that he lost the girl's attention. Her eyes widened and her expression seemed one of distress. Enjolras, who was used to being able to finish his speeches without losing the audience, looked at her with annoyance.

"What? What is it?"

"Gavroche is here?" She asked, dumbly, causing some of the simpler men in the group to laugh. Courferyac silenced them with a dangerous glare, and turned towards the girl.

"Why does this bother you so?" He asked, and Éponine looked down, embarrassed. Sure, she and Azelma had lived their lives without Gavroche, but when he stopped by it filled her heart with joy, knowing that at least one of them was spared the criminal life. And she cared for him in the distant way that bickering siblings do. She knew that he must be bitter towards her for managing to cling onto what little love their mother had left to give, and she didn't blame him. There was a certain amount of bitterness on her part to, for he was able to escape. If she tried to, it would be only a matter of time before she was found again.

"My brother," She mused aloud, and Enjolras cracked the smallest smile at this. As did Courferyac, and the two comerades exchanged a glance.

"By God, I can see the resemblance!" Courferyac whooped, and some of the more relaxed (and more drunk) men laughed.

"Well, they share their stubbornness and bravery as well as their noses." Enjolras chuckled, but he placed a careful hand on her shoulder, and the heat of his palm reached through the thin smock. "Alas, another innocent should not die. It is awful enough that young Gavroche will most likely die here."

"I am anything but innocent!" She exclaimed, ducking out from under his hand. "Do you know what kinds of things I've been made to do for my father? I know a world that none of you do! It is awful work, you know, real terrible and dirty. My father would do it himself but he's much like a rat, he enjoys retreating into a dirty hole in the wall and waiting out the storm." Éponine drew some laughs from the crowd at this, but she continued talking in her distracted, rambling way to the leader. "The only good part about it is that I get to walk alone most of the time. At first it was scary, but as I grew accustomed to it, I became more welcome of the night. Do you know what kind of people haunt the streets at night, Messieurs? Bad ones, that's right. But the Parisian night is so beautiful! If it weren't for those damn factories, the stars would shine like diamonds on a bride's ring!"

A workman interrupted her, spewing out names at her, following his outburst with a simple statement, "Those damn factories are the only reason many of us are alive!"

There were some grumblings in agreement, but most of the men found themselves transfixed in the girl's heartrending monologue that never seemed to end.

"Pay close attention to the night right now! It may be the last time any of us get to see its beauty! I knew that coming in, but I think that many of you have yet to realize this. Surely you have something, someone to live for? You speak of studies and jobs and sweethearts and yet you are here, with wretched souls like me, who chose to end their pathetic lives for the greater good! I think you would do well, Monsieur, to let me stay," Éponine said, directly to Enjolras, who appeared to be relatively unmoved. "I am no stranger to a gun, I can fire as well as any of you petty schoolboys!"

The term 'petty schoolboys' lost what audience remained, and the crowd dispersed, frustrated and annoyed with the girl who should know her place. Enjolras remained, though, and he shook his golden head at her, who kept her chin up and her glazed eyes at him. A young voice pierced the night, and she began to tremble. The sudden realization of who would die that night reached her. Marius, who she brought here of her own selfish reasons, these kind, smart boys who would make wonderful husbands, and her brother.

"Enjolras, what's going on? I heard a ruckus. 'Ponine, what are you doing here? I thought you were in jail," Gavroche said simply, no love in the words that he spoke so monotone. Éponine felt herself drawn to him, and she felt for him in the dark until her bony hands lay across his shoulders. She couldn't see his face, but she could imagine it, and that was comfort enough.

"They released me and Azelma early. Maman is still in jail-"

"And father has escaped." Gavroche finished, with a grim undertone to his young voice. "I am more aware than you think, 'Ponine. I helped him escape."

For once, she was at a lost of words. As far as she could tell, Gavroche felt no love for any of them, and their father seemed to show particular disinterest towards him. Finally, her active tongue discovered the searched-for words and she asked him, "Why would you do such a thing? You know what kind of man our father is!"

Gavroche remained silent on the subject, and they stayed in this soft darkness for several moments before he finally said, "I think you should leave."

"What? Why? Gavroche, you silly boy, why are you ordering me about? I can handle as much as you can! Even more! You are so small even now, and how much you've grown!"

He snorted, his good humor returning to his voice. "I am nearly as big as you are, 'Ponine!"

"You are, aren't you? Well, no matter. I refuse to leave. Unless..." She trailed off, as if she was scared to say what she wanted to. Enjolras, who still stood beside the siblings, leaned in to hear her next words.

"Unless what?" the boy asked, and Éponine sighed a raspy sigh, one that emerged from the depths of her soul. She glanced back at where Marius was being tended to by candlelight, and she felt some comfort in knowing that he might not be well enough to fight.

"If you come with me and leave the barricade, then I will go and bother these men no longer." She said, and Gavroche's protests rose immediately but were silenced by a few words from Enjolras.

"Maybe it is for the best, boy." He said, and Éponine's heart went out to this young man that she barely knew.

"I won't leave this spot!" Gavroche swore, and it tore at her shredded heart. "I won't leave you, Enjolras, and I won't leave France!"

"Well, if you won't, then I won't either!" She cried, horribly upset at her brother's stubbornness. Why couldn't the silly boy realize that he was playing with the bigger boys, and that the game was against death?

"'Ponine," Gavroche said, quietly and with a softness with which he had never used when speaking to her. "Please."

She closed her eyes, and she was back at the inn as a small child. She was in a good mood that day, and decided to spare Cosette of her bullying. She led the lark to the children's room and showed her Gavroche, smiling proudly. "This is my brother!" The rejected baby boy lay about soiled sheets, but looked at his sister and the servant with curious eyes.

"Is it alright for him to lay like this?" the lark had asked in her broken voice. Éponine assured her that it must be, for her Maman and Papa did nothing to change it. After a few seconds of the girls watching the baby, Cosette spoke hesitantly to the girl who was usually so cruel to her. "I wonder what its like to have a brother."

"You may have one, somewhere." Éponine had said, reminding Cosette of her missing mother, and the child had smiled slightly, as if comforted by the thought.

Éponine opened her eyes to the same darkness she'd just seen. She wanted nothing more than to stay by the side of the boys she loved, but when Gavroche used that voice he broke her in a way that he could never know. He made her feel as if she was the younger child and he was the older, gently crooning to her.

"Alright. But, if you change your mind, can we meet up somewhere?" She said, her voice drifting off like smoke during a strong wind. Gavroche smiled. It felt nice to be looked after for once in his life, but he knew as well as she did that he would not survive.

"The elephant. If I make it I will be at there tomorrow."

"You promise?" She asked, and he made a guffaw as if he was annoyed with her smothering him, while in reality he was reveling in it.

"Of course I promise 'Ponine!"

The promise was enough to treat her wounded soul as she carefully left the barricade, wandering though the streets until she found her way to the river, where she sat to wait till morning for her brother that would never come.

And the unconcious Marius? He dreamt of her death, a morbid subject to dream of, but something that gave him the feeling that he just lost two women who loved him, Cosette and Éponine, although his feelings concerned with the latter were mostly those of pity. Somehow, through his injury, he picked up on the conversation discussing the relations of Gavroche and Éponine, and this spurned him to have Gavroche deliver the letter to his darling Cosette. As for the message that Éponine had selfishly hid from him? She placed it on his chest as she left, not wanting him to be angry with her when they reunited in death.

* * *

As Éponine was standing her ground against Enjolras, Grantaire momentarily woke from his drunken stupor. The cafe was remotely empty, and he was alone but for sheets of scrap metal that refused to stay on the barricade and the jackets that some of the men discarded in the room. He stumbled to his feet, reaching for a bottle but finding it empty.

Then a thought occurred to Grantaire. He wanted to prove to Enjolras that he did care (somewhat) for the revolution. Upon a dizzy look around the room, an idea lit up his alcohol-infused brain. He was taught to sew as a young boy by his sister, who was awful tired of having to repair his clothes when he constantly tore them, as little boys tend to do. So, his one talent in mind, Grantaire grabbed a lone sewing kit that belonged to Joly and set to work.

When he was done, he felt quite satisfied with his work. He'd clumsily put bits of metal in the stuffing of the jackets, and messily sewn up the tears. He retreated back to his corner, cradling the empty bottle, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. Enjolras came into the room, rubbing his temples from the spat with the foolish girl. Upon entering the room, he sat for a moment, just to gather his bearings. After a few minutes of vulnerability, he left the room, remembering to grab his scarlet jacket. He thought its weight odd, but threw it on nevertheless.

And that little toss of his jacket over his sweaty arms was enough to save his life.

* * *

_He repeated, "Long live the Republic!" and walking steadily across the room took his stand beside Enjolras, confronting the muskets. _

_"Might as well kill two birds with one stone," he said; and then, turning to Enjolras, he added gently: "If you don't mind."_

_Enjolras clasped his hand and_ _smiled_. They bumped shoulders, and Grantaire smiled right back, knowing the secret that protected Enjolras, whose eyes lit up with confusion upon this knowing smile from the drunk.

Neither smile had ended _when they volley rang out. Enjolras, _his jacket _pierced by eight shots, stayed leaning against the wall as through the bullets had nailed him there; only his head hung down. _In reality, the bullets hit the metal, but the fabric clung to the shots, unlike the ricocheting of the bullets off the royal children whose death would not come for many years. He just stumbled back from the momentum of the shots, and hung his head to hide his wild eyes.

He heard the shots ring out, and the rough cries of his comrades as they perished at the hands of the soldiers. While relief should have filled the young man, instead he was filled with shame for surviving. He was the captain, supposed to go down with his ship. Alas, here he stood, living, breathing, hating. Even the drunk who knew no cause to stand for had died, right there at his feet.

When the building was silent, the burden of death pressed upon the leader's eardrums. For the first time, his marble cracked and Enjolras fell to the ground, sobbing the way he only did at the death of his unrequited love, Patria, who died from malaria in his home town. He'd wandered the town for days, searching for help for the girl who lay in his arms. Patria, it was the name always on his lips. His hatred had to come from somewhere, and it came from the depths of his broken heart. It was first aimed at the policeman who refused to help Patria, then the police in general, then it was the government. And thus a revolutionary was born.

* * *

It was many months later, and nighttime. The streets were alight and festive with Mardi Gras celebrations, and the throngs of spectators joined together as urchin and blueblood, night and day. The people of Paris were united in the night more successfully than any revolution would have done. In the crowd, a lone face in a sea of masks stood staring at the wedding party that passed through. Her heart had been saved by its broken state, for a broken heart knows no hatred until someone attempts to stitch it back up the wrong way. Éponine's pain had never stopped. Through the window of a carriage in the party she saw a handsome face that she missed dearly. She knew not if it was hallucination or real, but she enjoyed seeing that gorgeous smile that graced the features of her Monsieur Marius.

In the next carriage, she spotted another familiar face. Although her smile dimmed, it did not disappear entirely. Cosette. It was at that moment she realized that this was far too real. Did he think her dead? Did he mourn her at all? Did he even remember her name? Éponine sighed, somehow knowing that he didn't. And in the fresh heartbreak that came from this, her soul was saved again, for with each rough tear her innocence grew and her criminal thoughts lessened.

She lowered her teary eyes to the ground, and once she was sure that she would not cry, she looked back up and met someone's eyes from across the street. Although he wore a thin, black mask, his wild head of golden curls gave him away, as well as his red jacket that appeared lumpy and ill-fitting. He saw her as well, and cracked a smile. There was a break in the traffic, and the young man crossed the street, walking right towards her.

Once he reached her side, they stood in silence. However, a connection was made by their entwined fingers as they watched their friend live his happy life without knowing that they survived as well.

Éponine murmured in a voice that had healed from breathing cleaner air, "I'm afraid he doesn't remember."

Enjolras replied with his lips very close to her ear, "Mademoiselle, the real fear is that he will never forget."

* * *

_Original reviews:_

_**Olo Eopia03:**_HELLOOOO AGAIN!  
You're backkkk! I love the story :D I LOVE EPONINE :D she's my favorite character in the book :D (and of course the movie) :) I like how you were able to incorporate the style of the time period, like what they wore and how the people at the time would react or speak :D  
This is a good story :DDD Goodddd jobbb :D

I think I'm on an unofficial hiatus right now but I'm still in the middle of outlining my story for Shem :D  
It's good to see your awesome writings again!

_**PeachesPoison:**_Awee this is so cute/sad. Even better since I've read (well, listened to) the Brick. Job well done :)

_**Princess Unikitty: **_interesting idea for a one-shot. nice use of detail.


	2. The Truth Behind Patria

**I honestly hate this one, because I wrote it back when I thought that "Patria" was a person. Just like the last one, only the Patria part factors into this one more. **

**_Title:_** The Truth Behind Patria

**_Summary: _**She'd been left on the streets for a night, and thought nothing of giving the boy a fake name. Éponine left with his coat and his money, not realizing that she had also left with his heart. She'd said, quietly, "You can call me Partria."

**_Rating:_** T

* * *

The girl hunched over even further than she'd already been. It was January, 1831, and the Parisian night had never felt as cold to her as it did then. The night was mostly dry but for the smallest of flurries that fell from the heavens like the freezing kisses of the dead.

And the girl had nothing for protection but the rags that were so torn up, she might have been naked. The flimsy material did little to stop the biting wind that chewed at her bony back, and the sleeves had long since fallen off, leaving her thin arms open to the night. The skirt barely came past her knees, and the tattered material where the hem ought to be simply brushed her legs, making her skin crawl.

She cracked a stony smile at the thought that this may finally be it. This little outing could be the end to a life she didn't want to live. No longer would she have to do dirty deeds in the soiled name of her father. And surely heaven wouldn't care for mean things that she was forced to do, would it? The thought burned in her brain, warming her as if someone had given her something hot to drink.

Her father had turned her out on the streets, insisting that she was to bring him money, or he wouldn't let her back inside. Heartbroken, she'd stopped for a second in front of the handsome Monsieur Marius's door, but as her fist rose to knock upon the wood, she allowed her weak hand to fall. She was far too proud to allow someone to notice her simply as a charity case.

So, as her pride doomed her, young Éponine prepared for the death that was sure to accept her. For a moment, she thought of searching for her brother, but that idea disappeared with the depressing realization that she had no clue of where he was.

She laughed bitterly. How fitting for her to die alone, such a death was suitable for sewer rats! And, as she'd been told by the teasing Montparnesse, she resembled one as well.

She sank against the wall of a cafe, fighting back the tears that would only wet her face and make it colder. A gust of wind blew the dusting of snow off the roofs, making it seem as if there was a cloud surrounding the dying Éponine.

A figure stepped forwards, and she got up with some difficulty to greet it. As he came closer, her smile grew larger. She thought that she must surely be in contact with an angel. His face was as perfect as if it had been carved from the whitest of marble, and his golden curls were dusted with frost. His blue eyes gazed at her for some time before he spoke.

"Mademoiselle, can I assist you in any way?" He asked. Her heart sank. She was still living.

"I apologize, Monsieur. For when you came towards me I thought that I'd been clasped in the hands of death and that you were surely someone divine that was coming to take me away! But alas," she added, bitterly. "I was mistaken. I apologize for bothering you, Monsieur. Now if you could leave me alone to die, that would be welcome."

He smiled at the talkative girl, and the man of marble moved to remove his overcoat. She looked with glazed eyes at him as he carefully placed it over her scrawny shoulders.

"This is as much as I can do for you, Mademoiselle. There are six francs in the left pocket, and that is all I have on me." Then Éponine's eyes widened. He WAS an angel! One who'd come just for her. Surely for a man to be so kind to a rat he must come from God. Or he could want something from her... The only thing that hadn't been taken from her. Sadly, she shrugged off her coat.

"I am sorry, Monsieur, but I won't do anything of that sort with you." She whispered in her raspy voice that hurt her ears. The man shook his head, again pulling the protection over her.

"I've asked nothing of you. I am citizen Enjolras. What is your name, mademoiselle?"

"Ép-" she started, but remembered the only lesson her father had taught her that actually seemed useful. _Always give a fake name._ "Patria." She said, and the man smiled.

"Épatria?"

"You can call me Patria." She grinned, thinking of how it was actually Ponine. But anyway, what was the likelihood of seeing this young gentleman again?

The man went home that night with the name on his lips. He smiled, liking the sound of it. He didn't dislike the pretty face that accompanied it, either. For, Enjolras left more than his money and his coat with the freezing girl. He'd left his heart in her bony hands. Try as he might in the year following, he never saw her again.

As he faced his foes on the barricade, her name rose to mind, and he said it softly, quietly. _Perhaps we shall meet again, _he thought. _Only this time it won't be so cold._

* * *

"_You know, Monsieur Marius_," she said, sweetly. Her head felt as if it was floating, and the pain had completely vanished. In that moment when she opened her eyes after making him promise, he thought that it was as if she was speaking from a different realm. However, he was just unused to her not looking at him. In that little fleeting second before she planned on spilling her secret, she'd glanced up and seen a head of shining golden curls, and her smile came mostly from this. Her angel would be here in her death- it was only fitting. "_I think,_" she put as much evidence on that word that separated her confession from the truth and the possible. "_I was a little bit in love with you._"

Éponine closed her eyes and felt her body drop. She was finally free, she was finally warm.

When she awoke, she felt as if gold had been pulsed into her veins in replacement of blood. She felt so refreshed, so pure. She was still barefoot, but it was the kind of barefoot associated with warm summer days and cool puddles after a spring rain. Her hair was clean and lay longer than it had ever been, and she saw for the first time since she was a child the color of her hair. It was a pleasant caramel color, lightened from the sun and yet it had been so caked in mud that she'd never noticed. It wasn't close to the silky waves of Cosette's chestnut locks, but it was pretty nevertheless.

She sat up, and a gown of the finest material slipped over her knees, covering her breakable body with a sparkling fabric subject for angels.  
Speaking of angels, where was he?

She stumbled to her feet, and suddenly felt enveloped in the shock of what heaven looked like. It was the barricade she'd just left, but it was higher and neatly stacked, and there was not a speck of dirt on the streets. There was good natured laughing very nearby, and the smell of champagne embraced her nose. A small figure darted into sight, laughing and smiling, surrounded by a glow that meant new-discovered happiness. Gavroche.

A taller figure chased him, a laugh lighting his handsome face as he playfully reached for the boy, who easily ducked out of the way.  
Curious, Éponine followed them to a lovely sight. Hundreds of young men laughing and acting joyously, their clothes cleaner and their hair neater than they'd ever known.

A couple of them stopped their merriment upon Éponine's arrival. A man who was one of Marius's friends, she recognized him as this at least, knelt at her bare feet.

"Merci, ange." Jehan said, looking at her as if she was the thing he claimed she was. She bent down and gently touched his face the way she'd always wanted to touch Marius's.

"I am no angel, I am the devil, but it's all the same to me." She said, softly, sadly, much more so than the way she'd boldly said it to Père Mabeuf.  
Then the voice of the old man arose to her ears very near to her.

"Alas, my dear, I'm not sure that you realize this, God _has_ blessed you, as I told you. You are here. Would you be so if you were anything less than the angel you appear?"

A protest rose to her lips, but she then caught sight of her reflection in a mirror that lay imbedded in the neatly made barricade. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. And, as she saw in the mirror, she did it delicately.

Éponine had never seen herself as beautiful before. But, she may have been as pretty as Cosette in that heavenly minute. She cried in delight and spun around in this new dress.

Who knew how great it would be to die?

Mid spin, she was caught by a pair of strong arms. She laughed, knowing nothing but the swell of happiness that filled every inch of her. When she was placed down, she looked up into a pair of eyes that she'd seen before, on a cold night the year prior. The face of marble was broken with a smile wider than Éponine's. His curls sprung with a fresh cleanliness and he was dressed in a neat red jacket.

"Patria." He said, and Éponine's heart raced with a feeling she'd never known. He said it so tenderly, and no one had spoken to her like that since...  
He was as beautiful as an angel, yes, and his deep voice sounded like one sent from God. And she'd lied to him.

"Monsieur," she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Julian Enjolras."

"I apologize, and I hope you know that I mean every word of it. I have deceived my angel, the one who saved my life only for me to die a year later. So I must correct you." She took a deep breath. "It is Éponine, not P-"

And then the man of marble did something that drew cheers from his men. He leaned forward and pressed his perfect lips to her chapped ones, and it was a warm kiss, so vastly different from the rough ones she shared with Montparnasse.

He parted from her, and she wanted more than anything to lean up and forward, and join him again.

"'Ponine or Patria, you never left my mind."

Resolving never to lie to him again, she responded, "You were never far from mine."

* * *

_original reviews:_

**Rose:** I like that this is canon-era. Its a sweet story. First I thought I would hate the idea of Patria being Éponines "fake" name, when the true meaning - Enjolraslove for his country - meant so much to him. (Im not saying you are like "Enjonine is queer erasure" crowd who twists Enjolras dedication in revolution and Hugos revolutionary symbolism as "explicit sign of being queer".) But, it was sweet story, with happy ending, and I like nods to Hugo, and Mabeuf being there.

**JackieStarSister:** Wow … this is the first Eponine/Enjolras that I've read and liked! The idea that the name Enjolras murmured at the barricade actually referred to a person is intriguing; and I like that this could fit in with the canon story.

"She was far too proud to allow someone to notice her simply as a charity case." That's an interesting line, considering that she later officially meets Marius only when she comes begging at his door, and she doesn't act too ashamed then.

I like that Father Mabeuf made an appearance; his interaction with Eponine is one of her best scenes. :)

**PeachesPoison:** I want to cry every time I read a fic set in 1831...

**Nina:** Insert happy!tears gif here.  
MY EMOTIONS. MY EMOTIONS.

**Olo Eopia03:** DAWHHHH :) That was so cute. I like how you give credits to Victor Hugo and emphasize his work, because it really makes your story seem more real and connected :D I love eponine! Sorry I didn't review so quickly! I can only do it late at night now because of school :D but I do what I can! Good TWO SHOT :DD  
-Olo Eopia03

**Cute:** Cute, cute, cute! So very cute! So sweetly cute!  
Ok, you see that I find this very cute! And beautiful! And magic!  
Well. Can it be a one million-shot, please?

**Nina:** You didn't categorize this as 'complete', hence my day is made!  
This one has an original plot to it, and I'm not even being sarcastic. I'm looking forward to more!

**Sirens in the water:** Aww! That was really cute!

**RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow:** Awww!


	3. The Way I Loved You

**Title: **The Way I Loved You

**Summary: **She missed screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain. She missed _him_, but she'd be seeing him soon.

**Rating: **k+

* * *

Combeferre didn't hurt her, instead he left her with a comfortable feeling that made her feel more at home than she had anywhere else.

To be honest, Combeferre could never break her heart because he wasn't the one who had it.

Éponine Thénardier's heart belonged in the smooth hands of Combeferre's best friend. Every time she looked into her boyfriend's coffee eyes, she saw icy blue instead. When her fingers grasped his rough, straight hair, she convinced herself that she was touching curls the color of the sun.

He couldn't see her fake smile or her dead eyes. He couldn't see the way her hand occasionally went to her breast as if to feel for a heartbeat to ensure that she was still living.

Éponine missed screaming and fighting. She missed the ups and downs. She missed the horrible anger that quickly turned into passion before ether of them knew what they were arguing about.

Those times when she would run outside to escape him, the Seattle rain pouring in torrents, and he would follow her to the street. He would firmly push her chin to force her to look in his eyes as he tried to make his cynic girlfriend believe.

She would pull away and then hit him, angry that he wasn't listening- that he never would. No matter how violent she got, he never once hit her back. He took his revenge in a different way, for his passionate kisses were much more devastating than any blows that Éponine had ever endured. They would end up in the stairwell of their building, arguing between kisses and over discarded, wet clothing. Too many times had their neighbors complained, but never once did the couple pay attention.

Combeferre was gentle. He was thorough in his love and cautious in his caresses, as if she was made of glass. He was always on time for their dates, and he called her anytime anything went awry.

When Combeferre insisted on meeting her parents, a hesitant Éponine was pleasantly shocked when they got along famously. Her mother and sister were convinced that he was the prince she'd been waiting for her whole life, and her father was pleased with his money. However, Combeferre was smart enough to leave the Thénardier household with his wallet unopened. If that wasn't cause enough for infinite respect, Éponine didn't know what was.

Gavroche was the one who saw through her. He confronted her after a meeting at the Musain.

"Don't do this, Éponine." He told her. Gavroche, Éponine's precious brother, was grown up enough to pretend to understand her business. "You don't love him."

"I do," she lied, "In my own way."

Combeferre was the one who found her two weeks after the rally that changed everything. He was the one who stitched up her wounds and wiped the bathroom clean of her blood. He was the one who held her through the night. He was the one who took her the next day to lay a red rose on Enjolras' grave as a symbol of goodbye.

But it never really was goodbye, was it?

He was everywhere. Like a disease. And she couldn't complain. Wasn't that the first thing she wished after getting the phone call from Grantaire? That she would get to see him one last time?

Seeing him wasn't the same without the arguing, without the rush of emotions and the silent cursing of him when he stayed late at the Musain and she was still waiting up for him at 2 a.m. Nothing was anything without the insanity of loving someone a little too much.

Combeferre called her on the one-year anniversary of June 5th. He had to work late, and he was leaving her in the apartment that was filled with blond hair and blue eyes. There he was again, out of the corner of her eye. His lean figure standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She followed, as if in a trance.

The medicine cabinet was open, revealing the bottle of sleeping pills that was never opened. Éponine's path was clear to her at that moment.

He returned home to silence, something ominous and louder than one of Courfeyrac's clubs. With a sick feeling in his gut, he ran to the bathroom to see a limp hand hanging on the outside of the tub. He clutched her and called her name, but she didn't return to him. He supposed that he always knew that she belonged elsewhere, but he wanted to be there with her.

Combeferre called 911, although he knew that they would be unable to do anything. As the paramedics carried her away, he caught a glimpse of blond hair out of the corner of his eye. He followed it to the bedroom, and there, on her pillow, was a single sentence.

_I don't feel anything._

But Combeferre did, and he sank to the floor with his head in his hands. He should've known that he could never live up to the Adonis that was his best friend.

He loved her, but it wasn't enough.

To love and be loved in return is a beautiful thing, but to love an empty soul is an act of heroism.

* * *

**just a reader: **your whole story is unbelievable beautiful and the last sentence killed me entirely. Thank you very much for this mind blowing piece of writing!

**FurtherIllumination: **That was beautiful and sad and asjkasdfuihsndfui I can't even right now! I'm about to cry! Gosh, my heart is full of feels. Just amazing work!

**Guest: **I almost cried. I don't think I've ever cried in a fanfic. This is brilliant, and heartbreaking.

**Anna: **I'm in tears that was so emotional!

**Singmyangel: **"Nothing was anything without the insanity of loving someone a little too much", that is so beautiful, did you get it from something?

**Les-tveiterables: ***internal sobbing*

**J91: **Ugh it always makes me sad when Ferre is some kind of second choice.

**The Mutant Jinx: **Oh wow thanks for making me cry.


	4. Perfect Loving Family

**Summary: **AU. Marius Pontmercy married Cosette; Now they have a beautiful daughter who strives for her parents' attention. He raised the Thernardier siblings as his own children and he visits the Musain on the weekend. Everything is perfect, until... until...

**Rating: **T

**Notes: **One of my few one-shots that has no mention of e/e. Also, this was going to be completed, but I stopped after two chapters, so now it's sort of… incomplete.

* * *

Marius was half asleep at the kitchen table, his thumbs in a war with each other. His bleary eyes stole a glance at the clock that hung above the microwave. Three in the morning. Where the hell were they?

As if called by his thoughts alone, he heard the slight whisper of the front door opening, accompanied by the muffled sounds of adolescent giggling. He stood as the siblings entered the room, shooting a nervous glance at each other when they saw his frustration.

"What's this?" Éponine asked. "You haven't waited up for us in months."

"I was counting the ways you could have been killed." Marius snapped. He made a promise to his late father to help the Thernardier family in any way that he could, so treating the siblings like his own children was the best way he could think to do it. He wished that he could take in Azelma. She used to visit, but eventually she stopped. She never mentioned why. Once Marius called her and asked her why she never came to visit Gavroche or Éponine. She hung up on him.

"And tonight's top three are…?" Gavroche responded, cheekily. Éponine ruffled her brother's hair with a proud smile. She'd taught him well.

"A freak September ice-storm with no warning," Marius began. The brother and sister dynamic duo groaned. Marius had a habit of exaggerating everything.

"Because _that_ happens." Éponine said with a hint of disdain. Marius glared at her, causing the girl to falter (she would never admit it, but her crush on Marius hadn't completely died. It just simmered into embers that burned only slightly in the pit of her stomach).

"The avian flu." He added, causing Gavroche to snort.

Marius shot _him_ a look as well, but Gavroche shook it off with a snippy, "We're not birds, are we?"

"The French Revolution." He concluded.

"You've got to stop watching the history channel." Éponine smiled sweetly at him to let him know that she was joking. She pushed into the kitchen, heading towards the fridge that was decorated with pictures of Marius, Cosette, and their daughter Noelie. Éponine and Gavroche tended to avoid pictures for reasons that Marius couldn't fathom.

"Now you're being all sweet, but you swore that you'd bring him home early." Marius stood up, his bones creaking from the effort. When had he grown so old? Whereas Gavroche and Éponine seemed to perpetually be children, he just seemed to fade more and more with each passing year.

"You've got to chill the fuck down, mister. We're street kids, no one can hold us down." Éponine said, holding a small apple in her calloused palm.

"Language!" Marius gasped, causing Éponine to chuckle. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the thirty-something man on the cheek.

"Marius? Sweetie?" Cosette's bell-like tone rang through the house from upstairs.

"It's Cosette; go up the back way." He told the children, gently ushering them out of the kitchen. Gavroche stuck behind though, looking up at Marius with a confused look on his young face.

"Why does she hate us?" He asked, and Marius offered him a shrug.

"She doesn't hate you. But you can admit that you guys are a pain in the ass." He grinned at the boy and grabbed a dishtowel, using it to playfully swat the pre-teen out the door.

"Marius?" Cosette asked from the doorway. She was the waiting wife, her blond hair slightly mussed and her hooded blue eyes rimmed with red. She pulled her robe closer to her. "What's going on? I heard voices."

"Oh, it's just me, talking to myself." He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She leaned into his touch, sighing against his chest.

"Will you come to bed soon?" She murmured.

Marius, being Marius, had to ask for confirmation for what he thought she was hinting at. "For sex?"

She looked up at him, having to crane her neck to look at him. Once they made eye-contact, she rolled her eye pointedly. "You don't know how to be subtle, do you?"

He laughed, a full sound that echoed through their comfortable kitchen. "It's never been my strong suit."

His laughter was contagious, and she soon joined in. However, once their peals of joy subsided, she frowned and a familiar crease appeared between her perfectly-shaped eyebrows. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

He peeled himself away from her and shot her a comforting smile. "Just as okay as it always is!"

Her frown deepened at this, but she nodded. "Are you sure you'll be up soon?"

"I promise."

* * *

Noelie Éponine Pontmercy did her absolute best in everything. She was taking mostly senior classes, even though she was a sophomore, and she played the cello as if someone would destroy every single stringed instrument the next day. Every night found her up past two in the morning, desperately trying to finish the last of her homework.

_Marius remembered his daughter's birth very clearly. She'd emerged perfectly healthy, albeit bloody and wailing, but healthy. As soon as she was cleaned and swaddled, she was placed in Cosette's arms. Marius leaned over his wife and looked at their baby girl. Cosette said, as if a question, "Can we name her Noelie?"_

_Marius responded with, "Middle name Éponine?" _

_Cosette's face softened, and she nodded, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. Marius looked up and saw Éponine sitting in the chair in the corner. A beaming smile unlike any other graced her face, bringing out what beauty she could have had if her life had been better. Marius nodded at her, finding himself choked up at the beauty of life. _

_However, as Noelie grew up, Marius's caretaking of the Thernardier siblings sometimes took the place of his paternal duties. Because of this, his poor daughter grew up feeling forgotten and unloved by her father and also by her mother, who was busy trying to help her father with his depression. She knew that she was being selfish, but she couldn't help the way she felt. _

Noelie, testing her can of Red Bull, found it was empty. She sighed and stood from her place on the couch. She went into the kitchen to get another can, only to see her father sitting at the kitchen table rubbing his temples. He looked at her strangely.

"Noelie, honey, it's three in the morning. Is everything okay?" He asked, seeming concerned. She shook her head, her frizzy hair curling as it dried from the shower she'd taken after dinner.

"Everything's great!" She said, sarcastically. "Why wouldn't it be great? It's great. I've just got-" She proceeded to list every single one of her incomplete homework assignments. She finished with, "It's just so… Under control." Noelie threw back her head, trying to drain the dregs of her energy drink.

In a rare show of affection, Marius stepped forwards and put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You need to slow down; take some time for yourself." He shrugged off his robe, leaving it where it landed on the floor. He turned to leave, calling back at his daughter, "I'm going to have _sex_ with your mother."

"Great," She groaned. "Thanks. I'm _so_ glad I know that."

* * *

The next morning was an insane hustle as the Pontmercy family prepared for a Monday. Marius, who practiced law from home, walked around in sweat pants and a v-neck, making terrible sandwiches. He made four, one for each member of his odd little family. Cosette tossed hers into her purse, and Noelie grumbled before putting hers into her backpack. Éponine and Gavroche ignored the sandwiches. On many occasions, Gavroche had reminded him of his extremely bad culinary abilities.

Marius tossed the two forgotten sandwiches into the trash bin and turned to his wife and daughter. Éponine and Gavroche had already left to do God-knows-what. He kissed his daughter's forehead and sent her out the door and to the bus. Cosette took the coffee that Marius made her and smiled as she gathered her things for the day.

"Marius, what are you going to do today?" She asked, expecting him to reply with something naively honest, like 'I'm going to watch Gossip Girl reruns'.

He shrugged. "I might visit Courfeyrac or Bousset. I haven't hung out with the guys in a while."

Cosette froze. She looked to her husband, a pained expression on her beautiful face. "You're going to run by St. Michael's Church?"

He was confused, but he answered. "Sure. Why?"

She sighed. "Marius, maybe it's time that we visit Doctor Fine."

* * *

Seven weeks later, Marius's new pills had been working extraordinarily well. Cosette was ecstatic, and while Joly reprimanded him for taking so many, Cosette's happiness was worth any price to him. He went to the bar shortly after his seven-week adjustment. When he was about to order a drink, Combeferre advised him not to. He couldn't know what the combination of alcohol and the pills would do.

His wise acquaintance was right, as always. He ordered a cup of water and sat at the large booth tucked away in a hidden niche at the Corinth. Enjolras poured over his notes while Grantaire, Joly and Bahorel discussed their sex lives. Some of the things they said made Marius, a married man, blush.

But it was time with his friends, and he managed to catch a glimpse of the shadow-like Éponine on her way home. He stopped the car and told her to get in. She obeyed him, as always.

They drove the route to Marius's home and when he asked about Gavroche, she said something about him visiting the Elephant. The Elephant was a statue in the local park that (Gavroche discovered) was hollow. It was his first real home, the Thernardier parents being unable to offer that to their eldest son.

Marius and Éponine pulled into the drive just in time to see a nervous, gangly boy kiss his Noelie before running off. He saw his daughter put her fingers on her lips, a smile gracing her usually tense face. He exhaled, trying to process the scene in front of him.

"Spying on your own daughter?" Éponine spoke up from beside him.

"When did she get a boyfriend? How did I miss this?" He asked his old neighbor, looking towards her. She shrugged, and made a move to exit the car.

"You kinda miss a lot." A sadness flashed in her eyes that made Marius suddenly feel very guilty, but he turned his attention back to his daughter as she entered the house.

"Do you think they're in love?" He asked. Éponine paused outside the car.

"Who knows? They're young. They're horny."

* * *

"Come on, Marmar. You can't possibly think that this is _healthy_, can you?" Gavroche asked, rummaging through Marius's many pills.

"I told you not to call me that." Marius said, his oblong white pills in hand. Suddenly, he had an overwhelming desire to throw away his pills. They turned his bright world into a faded reality that bored him to no end. Even his friends seemed to fade, as though they were stains on the shirt of his life. He wanted to keep the shirt dirty.

Gavroche perched on the bathroom counter, an impish grin spreading across his face. "Do it."

Marius, surprised, looked up. "Do what?"

"Throw them away. They're bullshit." Gavroche said. Marius frowned.

"Language!"

However, the boy had a point. Marius eagerly pulled a majority of his bottles out and dumped them into the toilet. After a couple of flushes, the colorful medicine that darkened his world disappeared, leaving him far more satisfied than any other treatment.

"I'm proud of you." Gavroche said. Marius looked up at the kid who was taller than him with the way they were situated, Marius on the floor and Gavroche on the counter.

"What will Cosette think?" Marius suddenly felt horribly vulnerable. Gavroche hopped down and patted the man's back.

"She doesn't have to know." He winked, and dashed out of the bathroom.

It was gonna be good. Cosette was sure of it. Marius' medication had been working famously and he hadn't shown a single symptom for a month. She sighed happily and sat back at the reception desk. For once, she was looking forward to going home.

_Home_. She thought. She liked the sound of that word and the promises that it made.

* * *

"Will you guys come over for dinner tonight?" Marius asked. The guys made mumbling refusals, except for Enjolras, who outwardly groaned. "Come on, it's Gavroche's birthday!"

"Fine."

"Noelie! And this must be Hayden!" Cosette exclaimed, kissing her daughter's wild curls. Noelie, uncomfortable, squirmed out of her mother's grasp and stood next to her boyfriend.

"Actually, it's Heath." He corrected, politely. A bag of a mysterious substance emerged from his back pocket, and Noelie discreetly pushed it further down.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you!" She said, warmly, grasping the boy's hand. "Why don't you join us for dinner?"

"Um, Mom, Heath can't really stay… He's got, um…" Noelie began, trying to find a valid excuse to save herself from massive embarrassment. She patted the tall boy's upper arm as Cosette shook her head.

"It's gonna be good!" Cosette repeated her previously mentioned thought, and Noelie's eyes widened at her mother's optimism. Whenever she was _this _happy, it meant that she was hiding her fears behind a smile.

"Homework!" Noelie finally said, but Heath looked towards her mother and then back at her, a question in his warm, brown eyes.

"It's gonna be _great_."

"Surgery!" She cried, but he was already being whisked inside by her mother. As a last attempt, she yelled, "Rabies!"

"Oh, honey, don't be such a bother." Cosette giggled. "We'll just have dinner, some small talk, we'll sit right down together like a happy family should. It's going to be okay!"

Heath nodded in agreement as Cosette led him to their large dining room. Marius waved at his daughter as he set the table. Les Amis were all there, occupying the untaken seats on the lower half of the table. They were loud and rowdy, and Marius wanted everyone to be quiet for the moment when he surprised little Gavroche, who was sitting in Courfeyrac's lap.

"Would you be quiet?" Marius announced. Cosette gave him a wary look, Heath seemed extraordinarily confused, and Noelie hit her head on the table repeatedly.

Les Amis quieted down then, looking at Marius expectedly. He dashed into the kitchen and emerged with a large chocolate cake (Gavroche's favorite) that was smeared in pale blue icing. In Marius' messy icing job, it said 'Happy Birthday, 'Vroche!"

"It's someone's birthday!" Marius exclaimed, and Cosette stood immediately, tears running down the face that had, moments before, been smiling and laughing.

"Whose birthday is it?" Heath asked, innocently. Noelie, her eyes burning with a hatred that was expressed at everyone and everything, glared at Heath. He sank into his chair, guilty that he'd asked anything.

"I don't know. Dad?" She said, her voice sickly sweet.

Cosette's blue eyes sent daggers to her daughter. "Don't provoke your father, Noelle."

"God damn it, Mom, my name is _Noelie!_" She screamed, her eyes watery. "This is fucked."

"Language!" Cosette scolded, realizing the stupidity of it too late, for Noelie slammed her hands on the table and stood.

"FUCK THIS." She made a hasty exit, quickly followed by Heath. Right before he left the room, he turned towards the Pontmercys, confusion still the prominent emotion in his eyes.

"It was lovely to meet you both." He said, leaving. Cosette sat back down, burying her head in her hands. Éponine stood by Cosette and ran a soothing hand up the older woman's back. Gavroche was about to cry, knowing that something was terribly wrong on his birthday. Courfeyrac held him close, whispering half-hearted assurances in his ear.

"What's wrong, _petit alouette_?" Éponine asked, softly. Cosette said nothing, instead shaking with sobs.

"Cosette, Éponine asked you a question." Marius frowned at his sweet wife's rudeness.

She looked up at him, her make-up running down her face. Her bell-like voice broke as she said, "They're not here, Marius."

"What do you mean?" He asked, panic coursing through his veins. Cosette motioned with her hand and he came closer, still balancing the cake in his hands.

"They've been dead for sixteen years, Marius." She said, and he looked around the room, bewildered.

It was Enjolras who finally spoke, his annoyed tone tinged with sympathy. "Pontmercy, you have always been annoyingly ignorant."

"It's true." Grantaire said next, taking a swig of his flask. It was a rare occurrence; the cynic agreed with the believer.

"Don't you remember the protest on June 5th?" Bossuet asked. Marius shook his head, lost.

"Mister Marius, don't listen to them." Éponine's sultry voice rose above the others. "We're right here. Aren't we?" She seemed to doubt her own words, and she sank into the chair beside Cosette.

"Cosette…" Marius' voice was wobbly, and his wife stood and gently pried the cake out of his hands. "What's going on?"

"They died, sixteen years ago." Cosette repeated, as if she was speaking with a small child. "There was a protest-"

"Stop." Marius begged.

"The police came before they could get away-"

"Cosette, please!"

"They opened fire-"

"STOP IT." Marius yelled, sweeping his hand over the table. A plate, caught in his motion, went flying across the room and shattered on the wall. Cosette backed away in alarm. "I said," Marius panted. "_Please_."

"What about your medication?" She tried a different approach. Marius shot her an apologetic glance.

"We now have the happiest septic tank on the block!" He offered. Cosette groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Jesus, Mar, they were working."

"Mar?" Bahorel snickered. Grantaire elbowed his friend in the gut.

"They weren't," Marius said, looking down at his shaking hands. "Not really."

"That's okay…" Cosette did her best to look on the bright side. "We can go back to the doctor and-"

"NO!" Marius yelled, this time pushing the cake off the table. The treat landed on the ground in a pile of mushy, blue-brown goop. (Marius had never been the best cook)

"Marius, please, stop it! This isn't helping. I know-"

"You know?" Marius laughed sarcastically. Cosette was even more alarmed. She'd seen several crazy sides to her husband, but never this. "_Ma Cherie_, pray tell, what exactly do you know?"

She gulped down her fear and answered him. "I know that you're hurting. I am too!"

"Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?" Marius asked.

"No, but-"

"Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?"

Jehan groaned from his place next to Courfeyrac. "Why are you rhyming, Marius? This is hardly the time to do so, and that's coming from _me_!"

Marius ignored the poet. "It's like… Living on a Cliffside, not knowing when you'll dive…" He continued, pressing his hand to his forehead. Cosette bravely took a step towards him.

"I know, honey, I know…" It was the wrong thing to say. Marius leapt away, glaring.

"Do you know what it's like to die alive?"

"No-"

"See, you _don't _know." He said, triumphantly.

"Okay, I don't know." She gave up. "But can you tell me what it is you're afraid of?" She paused, a tear rolling down her swollen face. "Why am I afraid it's me?"

"It's not that, Cosette. Just don't try to understand this. Don't try to understand _me_." He said.

"But that's just it, isn't it?" She asked. "I'm the one who will always _try_."

"Mister, hate to interrupt, but _I do understand_." Éponine broke in, walking over to Marius and laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're waiting for an answer. You're wishing for a break. She wants all that you can't give."

"Are you bleeding? Are you bruised and broken inside?" Cosette asked, placing her delicate hand on Marius' chest. He avoided her gaze.

"You're hurting constantly," Éponine continued, strength being added to her voice. "But at the same time, you feel like you're healing. You're hoping for a life to live that's finally yours."

"_Marius,_" Cosette breathed, and she and Éponine said at the same time, "So am I."

"Mister, look at me." Éponine said.

"Tell me what to do!" Cosette begged. "Tell me who to be!"

"She's lying to you!" Éponine finally cried out. "Just _look_. We're all here!"

"I will always be here, I will always try. I'm the one who'll stay. I'll do my best to heal you, Marius. We want you to get better, Noelie and I." She took his hand and pressed it to her heart. "My heart beats for _you_. I won't walk away. So if you dare try to tell me that I don't give a damn-"

"You _don't _give a damn!" Éponine snapped. Marius turned towards the brunette.

"Don't talk to her that way."

Éponine backed away, hurt. Cosette gently guided his chin so that he was looking her in the eyes. "I am the one who loves you. I'm holding on…"

"You say that you hurt like me…" He said, meeting Cosette's eyes. Maybe she was telling thr truth after all. She nodded and took his hand in hers, pressing their entwined digits to her lips.

"I won't let go," Éponine decided to rejoin, whispering her part in Marius' ear as she trailed her hand down his other arm, linking her fingers with his.

"You should know," The girls said at the same time. Marius looked over at Éponine, and he could see the concealed pain in her brown eyes. _She_ understood. As much as he adored Cosette, it was his old friend Éponine that understood him. He jerked away from Cosette.

"Oh," She murmured, sadly, knowing that she'd lost him.

"You say that you understand, but you don't know…" Marius stood and walked over to where Les Amis were sitting.

"_You _don't know who I am if you think I'll give up this easily," Cosette said, looking around her dining room that was empty but for Marius and his delusions.

"You don't know." He repeated. Éponine took the tall man in her adolescent arms and rubbed comforting circles on his back.

"You just don't know who I am, Cosette. If you did, maybe you'd understand…" The brunette said softly, glaring at the woman who couldn't see her.

* * *

**Caeli Quaedem: **no no no no no you are not doing this. Les mis and n2n are sad enough on their own, why would you? *runs away and rocks in a corner trying not to cry*

That said, this is brilliant. Do continue. It's awesome that they named their daughter after Éponine, it's really plausible. Imagine eponine singing there's a world though, that'd be amazing. Okay bye now.

**Guest: **I actually like this, but you should pair Gavroche with Noelie. That would be cute. Don't give this up, crack fic or not.

**Lesmispanda: **Could you do a prequel about the protest

**Miss ShadowScar: **Okay, you have no idea how much I adore Les Miserables crossovers with shows that Aaron ahs done. And there are so few ones, so this made me incredibly happy!

**Alliecat: **Why did you kill themmmm!? Whhhyyyy? *goes to cry in a corner*

Good story though! Mwah!


	5. Greased Lightning

**Title: **Greased Lightening

**Summary: **He meets her at her car shop, a tattooed, nose-pierced, grease-stained mechanic in old gray overalls with a cocky smirk and a swagger in her step, who eyes his red sports car with more lust than he's ever seen directed at anyone, much less an inanimate object.

**Rating: **NC-17. This is smut guys. Complete…. Smut.

* * *

Enjolras winces slightly. The loud sounds emanating from the dilapidated shop are too much for his head. He hasn't even had his coffee yet, considering that his car broke down five miles out of town and he's spent the early morning pushing it to here.

Wherever 'here' is.

The building is far dirtier than anything he thinks he's ever set his foot in. Despite his support for the poor he's never experienced it head-on, and he feels as though there is no time like the present to begin a change in the world.

He finally manages to get the bright red car into the garage, where he's met with a curious gaze. At first he can't see anything but those big, brown eyes and tumbling chestnut hair, for the owner of such features is tucked under an old Chevrolet. She pushes herself out from under the car, and he feels his breath taken away.

It seems almost impossible to him. This small, thin woman- no, girl- is beautiful to him for reasons that he can't fathom. Her skin is pale to the point of being sickly, and underneath the smeared layer of grease that stains her skin, he thinks he sees some freckles. She has a small, black knob that stabs through her right eyebrow, and she twists it as she stares at his car. She turns to get a better look at the sports car, completely ignoring her potential customer.

As she moves, one of the straps on her old overalls falls down her shoulder, smearing it with grease and tangible car exhaust. The overalls, which have been cut off at the knee, reveal a winding tattoo around her ankle like a vine. If he were to get closer (which he tells himself he does not want to do), he would see that they are words. A poem on her feet.

She finally turns to him and acknowledges him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that quirks her full lips in a way that is far too attractive. "So, what's happened to your little beauty here?"

"Uh, I don't exactly know. It broke down about three miles away?" He says, awkwardly. She shoots him a look of utter contempt at his cluelessness.

"If I had a car like this, I would make sure that she never even got dinged." She muses aloud, taking more steps towards his car. She leans as if to run caressing hands over it, and he almost says something about the paint job before she retracts her hand.

"Well, can you fix it?" He asks, shattering her reverie. He tries to ignore the way she looks, bent over his car, with her hair spilling down her back and those overalls clinging too tightly to her ass.

She snorts. "Give me two days." She whirls around. Seeing her directly, he notices how little her overalls cover. Dear God, he thinks, is she wearing anything under those? As his eyes try desperately to not look at her chest, the sewn patch by her right shoulder catches his eye. Éponine. She gets really close to him and puts her waxy lips close to his ear."And that's just so I can drive it around a bit."

"Great," His breaths are even (but it takes a lot of effort) as he takes his wallet from his pocket. "How much?"

She makes a nonsensical noise in the back of her throat and looks back to the car. Finally he places why her gaze is so off putting. She looks at his Ferrari in the way that his friends look at women.

"I dunno. We can decide when you come back, yes?" She asks, smiling brightly. "Use the phone, call yourself a cab."

In a whirlwind of smoke and oil, she is gone.

* * *

He returns dressed more casually than last time. When they first met, he had been in an Armani suit that had been wrinkled and slightly wrecked from a particularly rough night. He's somewhat embraced the heat, dressing in jeans that he's rolled up to his knees and a short-sleeved button-up. He has sunglasses perched in his hair and he's wearing flip-flops.

He catches sight of her working on another car in the back. She has on a mask and an over-large apron as she inspects the inner workings of what seems to be a fairly fucked up car.

He shouts her name over the din of the shop, and she removes her mask. Just like two days prior, her face is dirty and her arms and fingers permanently stained with slick grease. As she takes off her apron, he thinks he can't possibly breathe in her vincity. If possible, she's wearing even less clothing than last time. Her top is anything but modest, an old blue button-up that had long since lost its buttons, and she has the ends of the shirt tied just under her breasts so that her entire stomach is exposed. Her jeans are of a normal length, but there are so many holes that she may as well have been wearing nothing.

"So, pretty boy, you're back for Daddy's present?" She asks. Something in her words scorches him deeply. He has to compose himself before he can answer.

"Actually, I bought it with my own money." His tone is icy, and he sees the swagger in her steps stop for just a moment before she continues to where his car is parked and covered with a large cloth.

She rips off the fabric and he beams. His car looks better than ever before- the hood has been dusted, the window shield has been cleaned, and the paint-job looks fresh. He inspects the inside, and the black leather seats are polished.

"Woah, this is amazing!" He compliments. She smirks.

"I know. You don't even have to pay me. It was worth it just to work with this car." She says. He frowns at her but says nothing, knowing first-hand how annoying it can be when someone refuses a generous offer.

Enjolras sits in the driver's seat and closes the door. He revs up the engine, relishing in the sweet purr that comes from his car. It's such an overwhelming noise that he almost doesn't hear Éponine over it.

He realizes that she is saying something, but he can't hear her. Her message is clear when she hops into the passenger seat, smirking at him.

"Take me for a ride, pretty boy." She orders. He tells himself that he listens to her because he owes her and not because the tie of her shirt is getting loose and he knows that the wind will tear it off her.

And so they leave and drive away from the city. Soon it is nothing but her and him and the sky and the smell of car grease.

"Oh! Over here!" She points excitedly in the direction of a country road. He shrugs and decides to oblige her. The road takes them to what used to be an old country store with an empty lot out front. He stops the car, confused.

"Why ar-"

He is cut off by her lips on his. She's sprawled across the front seat so that her forearms are supported by his broad shoulders and her hands are cupping his face. He kisses back with more ferocity than he knew that he had in him. Her hands trail away from his face, and even as her fingers leave he knows that he has streaks of black running down his face.

His hands come to their senses and reach for her waist. However, due to her compromising position, he ends up finding her jeaned ass instead. He freezes, unsure of how to proceed and decides that the best thing is probably to remove his hands.

When he does, though, she whines into his mouth and pushes her ass into the air so that it comes against his retreating palms. Taking the hint, his hands take their place again. Before he knows it, they are tumbling and falling over the backs of their seats and he falls on his back. She straddles him and those dirty fingers untie her top. She leaves the old fabric hung around her shoulders, but allows her breasts to receive the cool touch of the breeze.

He grabs the back of her neck and forces her face back down to his. Éponine whimpers as his hips roll up so that his restrained erection brushes against her equally clothed center. He feels her thin fingers edging in the small space between their bodies. She painstakingly undoes each button on his shirt and gives up on the last few, ripping his favorite top.

Enjolras can't find it in himself to complain. She eagerly pushes his shirt down his shoulders so that his chest is exposed more than hers is, and she runs her hands up his muscles. He groans as her thumbs find his nipples, for she is taking control and he is used to being a leader.

Ignoring the slick feel of the grease on his skin, he wraps an arm around her and struggles to flip them over, but she is having none of it, keeping her legs firmly wrapped around him.

"No," She tells him, pressing a feather-light kiss to his jaw. "No." She repeats. This time her hand finds the zipper on his jeans and with the third and final, "No", his erection springs free. She presses an almost-chaste kiss on his mouth before lowering those waxy lips to his cock.

And he groans. Her mouth feels so good against him, and he has to struggle to not see stars as she runs her teeth gently over his head. One hand finds her hair and tangles in it, keeping a firm hold there as she continues going down on him. His other hand finds the back of the front seat and tightens around the leather headrest to the point where he thinks his fingernails have broken the fabric.

Almost demandingly, Enjolras yanks on her hair so that her face jerks up to his level, her lips swollen and her cheeks oily. Éponine can't seem to stop him as he pushes her under him. He undoes her pants and pulls aside the cheap scrap of fabric that is her underwear. He slowly pushes himself into her, eliciting several beautiful mewls from her. Éponine squirms under him when he fills her completely.

She is tight around him, her walls pulsating incessantly and as slick with juices as her fingers are with grease. And slowly, painstakingly, he moves inside her. She tries to make him move faster, but he holds her gyrating hips to the leather seat so that she is as still as he had to be earlier.

"Revenge," He whispers, his voice hoarse.

He pushes against that spot inside of her and she spasms around him, her dirty nails digging into the exposed skin of his shoulders. "Oh, God, Faster, please!" She begs between each thrust.

He loves the sight of this dirty little woman begging him, but he knows that he won't last much longer if he doesn't get his release. So he pushes a little faster, thrusting into her with a steady pace. She flings back her head with a loud scream of ecstasy, exposing her throat to his biting mouth. Her shaking legs wrap around his ass, and he shoves into her with a new angle. His thrusts get faster and faster until he's pretty sure that he's going at the speed of his engine.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open. Expecting the inevitable, final scream, Enjolras pushes his mouth on top of hers so that the locals don't think that someone is being killed. She goes limp around him, but he is far from done. He slows so that she can prepare to accommodate him for longer. She does so lazily, letting one leg fall from around him to drape off the seat.

She takes deep breaths, regaining her strength, while he feels about to spurt his load right there and then. Finally she rolls her hips upwards, signaling that she is ready.

He starts off fast and brutal, no slow foreplay. She moans when one of his thumbs finds her clitoris and begins to roll it as he fucks her in the back seat of his car. His thrusts plunge deeper into her than either of them thought to be humanly possible. His vision starts to turn black around the edges, and he knows that he is more than close. She is very near to screaming again, but her teeth are biting her full bottom lip and her face is turning red trying to contain it.

He puts his hand on her hard thigh and spreads her so that every single bit of her is accessible and he rocks into her one final time. He lets out an inhuman sound that harmonizes with her loud cry, and he comes with her leg still holding him inside of her.

They stay like that for hours with her grease-stained fingers just tracing patterns on his back.

* * *

**Frustratedstudent: **Hello! This is quite hot, but you need to double space between paragraphs to make this easier to read. Kudos! (( _I fixed it, Kat :D_))

**Stagepageandscreen: **Excellently written, both the story as a whole and the smut scene. You did a VERY good job with this…. Phew *fans self* It was dirty and dangerous and so so hot. Well Done!

SPAS or Libz


	6. endgame

**Title: **endgame

**Summary: **she wonders if it's the end of yesterday. "lord i hope so." is all he says. apocalyptic AU

**Rating: **k+ or t idk which

-line-

It is an ordinary autumn day when the world seems to end. Éponine is walking home from school, the wallet she just stole from a passerby in her hand. His name is apparently Joseph Lesgle, and he happened to have three hundred dollars in cash that now belongs to an Éponine Jondrette.

She smiles to herself. Perhaps she and Azelma can grab a pastry from that bakery down the street that her little sister is always gawking at whenever they pass by. And, after that, they will have plenty of cash to spare. Enough to save them a few beatings from their desperate father.

She thinks something seems wrong when her neighbor is carrying an overstuffed suitcase and his stray kitten, all whilst trying to close the door to his apartment (if one can call the one-roomed, terrible spaces that). He looks over to her and smiles in greeting, finally managing to shove the door closed with his shoulder.

"Hello, Mr. Marius, hello Napoleon!" She addresses both the man and the cat, the shyest of smiles on her face.

"'Ponine!" He seems almost pleased to see her, and it makes her heart jump. Sure, he is a good ten years her senior, and sure he is engaged to a woman who looks like a supermodel, but he is a very attractive man with a logical mind and a kind demeanor. With the kind of men she is used to, it is hard to _not_ fall in love with Marius.

"Are you going on a trip?" She asks, and a dark shadow crosses over his face. Now she _knows_ something is wrong.

"How much money do you have on you, 'Ponine?" He asks her. She holds up the wallet so he can see the six fifties. He smiles proudly and ruffles her hair. She frowns slightly at the fraternal gesture. Then he grabs her shoulders and bends to be at the petit girl's level. He looks at her closely, his kind eyes far too serious for her liking. "If I tell you to do something, will you promise to do it without question?"

"Depends what. You're scaring me, sir. Will you please tell me what's going on?"

He looks around as if scared that someone might be listening in on them. He is always like this, for Marius works for the government. She takes pride in the fact that if something terrible ever happens, she will be the second to know after his fiancee.

"This needs to be quick," He says, more to himself than to her. "Éponine, I need you to take your family and leave the city as soon as you can. Don't bother packing anything, just grab a taxi and go as far away as that three hundred dollars will take you."

She knows better than to ask why. A sense of dread pools in her stomach as she nods. He smiles tiredly and kisses her forehead before lugging his baggage down the stairs of the cheap apartment complex. Éponine watches as he loads his bag in the back of a waiting car before ducking into the back seat.

As soon as the car is out of sight, Éponine registers the urgency in Marius's tone and begins to run. She reaches her family's squalid apartment and doesn't bother unlocking the door. She uses her bony shoulder to shove the secret spot that she knows will somehow render the lock useless. Sure enough, the door collapses from beneath her and she stumbles into the one room hell-hole.

Her little sister, Azelma, is lying on their shared bed and listening to the iPod shuffle that Éponine stole her for Christmas. The pretty red-head pulls out one earbud and cocks an eyebrow at Éponine's panicked face.

"We need to leave. Now." She says in way of explanation. Questions rise on Azelma's lips, but Éponine simply grabs the younger girl's upper arm and practically drags her out the building.

"But, 'Ponine! I need to get my homework and my charger-"

"Shut up, Azelma!" Éponine feels close to tears. The frenzy of dread is filling her like a cup of boiling tea on a cold day and it seems to overtake all of her senses. The two of them find the dilapidated playground that the residents of the complex share, called 'The Elephant' for the strange shape of the old tower and slide.

"Gavroche! You'd best get down here quick, 'Ponine's in a bad mood!" Azelma says, cupping her hands together to get the attention of their little brother. Sure enough, a blond head appears from the lip of the slide, and he shimmies his way to the ground.

"What's got 'er riled up?" He asks, and Azelma merely shrugs. Éponine glares at her siblings, a touch annoyed that they don't seem to feel the panic that she does.

"We need to get out of town, now. Where are the little ones?" She says to Gavroche, who frowns.

"I dunno, okay? I Gotta find them. We were playing hide-n-go-seek. You seen 'nuff in a hurry that if I don't find them, they'll be left behind. " Gavroche says of their younger brothers. Éponine makes a shoo-ing motion with her hand and watches as he looks around the playground, calling their names.

Then the tiny figure of Jack comes toddling into view, his two-year-old face crumpled in terror. Just behind him is Bernard, but it… Isn't Bernard. His eyes aren't their usual coffee color. Instead, they are glossy and milky. There is a large, bruised and bloody bite mark that is visible through a tear in his clothes. His teeth gnash together as he races after the helpless toddler.

Azelma shrieks, running towards the gate of the playground. Gavroche hears this and looks quickly, seeing the strange scene before him.

"Bernard," He scolds as he quickly descends down the side of the tower. "Now's not the time to play tag-" He grabs the eight-year-old as he passes, and Bernard quickly snaps his attention to Gavroche.

"Gav!" Éponine screams, but it's too late. Their little brother sinks his teeth into their other brother's forearm. Jack finally makes it to the girls and wraps his arms around Éponine's leg. She scoops up the little boy as she watches in horror.

Gavroche crumples to the ground and within twelve seconds, he begins to twitch. He leaps to his feet, a terrible sight. Foam drips out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin as his milky eyes scope the playground.

Éponine is no longer frozen at that moment. She goes into action, grabbing Azelma and holding Jack tightly to her chest.

"Azelma, come on. _Azelma_." She yells as monster-Gavroche and Bernard lunge for them. Azelma manages to understand what Éponine is saying and her feet move under her until the sisters are racing away from the pathetic place that has been their home for so long. They are more than happy to leave their useless parents behind, but even then Azelma spares a glance back to the window. She has always been the more loyal of the two girls.

They come to a screeching halt when they see the street. Traffic has come to a complete standstill, but there is still motion as people run desperately down the street. In hot pursuit are more of those monsters. _Zombies_. Éponine's dazed brain puts a name to those beings.

Nearby, a zombie reaches through a taxi's window and pulls out the driver, sinking its teeth into the old man's neck. The passengers scream, which appears to be the wrong choice, for three passing zombies hear and invade the car through the open window.

Éponine gags as she sees blood splatter the glass. This time it is Azelma who is down to earth, and the younger girl pulls her sister away from the hoard. Finally they come to a large taxi that looks more like a station wagon than a cab. The driver is nowhere to be seen, but a dark-haired young man is motioning a group of college-age students into the vehicle. Éponine runs to him and grabs his arm.

"Please! Can my sister and I come with you? We have nowhere to go!" She begs, too desperate to consider the shameful fact that she actually resorts to pleading with a stranger not much older than she.

"That looks more like a boy to me, but sure," The man indicates Jack, who is huddled close to Éponine's chest. She looks around herself, but does not see Azelma.

"Where did she go?" She muses aloud. Seeing the man's confused expression, she hands Jack off. The kid immediately begins to cry, and the man's eyes widen before he quickly gives him to someone inside of the car. Éponine hears her brother's sobs subside.

She catches sight of Azelma in a dangerous tangle with what used to be their mother. She begins to run to her sister, but she knows she is too late. Her mother scratches Azelma's exposed midriff with her long nails. The teenage girl collapses to the ground and begins to shake. Éponine stumbles over her feet as she backs away, not even really registering the loss of more than half her family.

AzelmaZombie advances towards Éponine at a scarily slow pace. The sight is made more terrifying by the bruises and ripped clothing she attained in the fight. Éponine feels tears threaten when she sees the headphones for her sister's iPod flung around her shoulders. She backs away without much of a hope of getting to safety.

Éponine falls mere yards away from the cab and Azelma is nearly on her when a baseball bat comes out of nowhere and catches her sister in the temple. Standing above her, his chest heaving, is her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Montparnasse. He has a pleased smile in place of his usual scowl, and his green eyes glow with malicious glee. His pale, usually sickly skin gleams in the Georgia sun and his short hair is soaked through with sweat. He is truly magnificent, and she feels a slight need to stay with him. He helps her up and shoves her away immediately after.

"Go, 'Ponine." He says, as gently as one can say something in the midst of chaos. She manages a nod and pulls herself into the cab, shaking.

As soon as the door closes behind her, the driver shoves his foot so hard on the pedal that the car lurches forward. The strength with which he does so causes Éponine to topple onto the lap of one of the young men in the backseat. He stiffens under her, which she takes to be a bad sign.

"Er…. Sorry?" She says, trying to pick herself off him, but it proves to be a difficult task with the driver being as reckless as he is.

The man finally realizes that he is going to have to get used to this position, for his muscles relax under Éponine's hand. He says nothing, and she doesn't even see his face. She is looking out the back window at the streets of Atlanta as they become a scene from a Zombie movie. Once they take the necessary twists and turns to get to the outskirts, the driver starts to get into a driving mode that is less Mario-kart-esque.

That being, Éponine peels herself off her human seat and plops herself on the floor of the car. It is only then that she gets a good look at who she had been sitting on. The first thing that catches her eye is the gray seatbelt tight around his chest. He is the only one who took that safety measure. Then it is simply _that chest_ that she notices. Even under the crisp button-up, it is obvious that he is well-built. She makes her eyes travel up from his body, and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

He is, without a doubt, the most handsome man she has ever seen. He has a head of tousled golden curls that soften his strong bone structure, and a pair of cupid's bow lips that don't quite fit with the ruggedness of the rest of his face. He is a pleasant pale shade (Éponine has never liked the guys who have those hideous farmer's tans in an attempt to 'get in touch with their southern roots'. You live in the city; you're not a fucking southerner) that suggests that he is from out of town, and his blue eyes pierce her.

But that was the thing. _He _is looking at _her_. Guys like him just don't acknowledge white trash like her. But _he_ does.

"Ma'am?" Comes a tinkling breathy voice. She turns to see a pretty young boy holding a sleeping Jack. She reaches out her hands and takes her baby brother from the stranger's arms, clutching him tightly to her. The same one comes down from his seat and sits opposite of her, smiling brightly. He is a warm golden hue that is darker than his pale blond hair. He wears a horrendous purple wife beater and yellow skinny jeans, but he seems nice enough.

"What's your name?" She asks him. He holds out his hand politely. She takes it.

"I'm Jehan. How about you?" As he speaks, he pushes a lock of hair behind his startlingly elf-like ear.

"Jehan? That's really french." She points out. He laughs lightly, nodding his head. "I'm called Éponine. French names for the win, huh?" She offers, giving him one of her bright smiles, usually reserved for her handsome neighbor.

"Like in _Éponine et Sabinus_!" The man in the driver's seat exclaims. All the passengers turn to look at him slowly. He glares back through the mirror. "It's an opera, you uncultured swine."

"Yes, but you're a genius and a stud, Courf''." A man says in between swigs from his flask. The same man looks down at Erin sitting on the floor and winks sloppily. He mouths his name, 'Grantaire'. She nods slowly in his direction. He reminds her too much of her father.

The driver barks out a laugh in response."True."

"What's your son's name?" Jehan asks her. Éponine feigns offense and hugs Jack closer to her.

"He's _not_ my son." She says, a little harsher than she means for it to sound. She feels awful when she sees him flinch from the tone in her words. She softens a little and smiles slightly. "He's my little brother."

"Oh, I'm sorry for assuming-" Jehan apologizes, but she quickly cuts him off.

"It's fine. People like me; it's expected for us to ruin our lives. It's not a _mean _stereotype, it's a true one." She says honestly, which draws a groan from the one with a flask.

"Oh God, why did you say that? Enjolras's going to -"

"Nobody should be looked down upon anywhere!" The handsome man she fell on top of declares. "This is the type of inequality we should be protesting in the w-"

"Boo!" His friends cry, throwing various things at him. He raises his arms in self defense, a coke can, an iPod, and a pen directly hitting him while everything else falls into the laps of those on either side of him. Éponine laughs with the rest of them. She knows that this is something akin the apocalypse, yet she can't help but feel like _her_ world is starting.

Who would have thought that she would find finally find happiness in this situation?

-line-

Once they get onto the highway, it takes less than five minutes for Enjolras, the handsome blond man, to force Courfeyrac, the driver, to give up his current place. The two switch and pretty soon Éponine finds herself entranced with Courfeyrac's quirks as the two of them chat amiably in the back.

It's quite peculiar; no one she's ever really gotten to know has been this smart. Hell, these boys (for really, none of them could be over twenty-three) might not even really be smart, but in comparison to those she's known in her life, they seen like geniuses.

From what she's gathered, the lot of them met at their Freshman orientation when they were (respectively) shunned by the college girls, professors, and fraternities. Enjolras brought up the desire to make a change in not only the school, but the world, and from then on the eight of them became joined at the hip.

There is Courfeyrac, the renowned flirt who apparently has random obsessions for the weirdest things ("Last year, all he listened to was yodeling." Grantaire says with disgust. Courfeyrac hits him over the head.

"Shit like that takes talent, okay?").

There is Combeferre, the smart boy with glasses who sits up front next to Enjolras ("The two of them are basically married," Courfeyrac jokes).

There is Joly, the medical student who is overly paranoid to boot ("What if this virus is airborne? Oh God, what if I-"

"SHUT UP JOLY").

There is Feuilly, the artist who's worked his way through scholarships just to finally drop out after sophomore year to run a pottery shop. ("The bastard picks up more girls than the rest of us," Says Grantaire jokingly.

"What can I say? The ladies love a hard-working boy!" He winks).

There is Jehan, the poet of the group, and he is probably girlier than Éponine has ever been her entire life. ("Hey guys," He sighs, "Do you remember that one time I brought flowers to a meeting and for months the room smelled like roses?"

"Unfortunately." Huffs Enjolras.)

There is Bahorel, a sparse member of the group who just happened to be present when the world went to shit. He appears to be extremely uncomfortable, wedged in between Joly and the kidnapped taxi driver ("I'd rather be out fighting Zach." He says, cracking his knuckles. When everyone else looks at him oddly, he rolls his eyes. "We had Charlie in Vietnam, we can have Zach here."

"Dude you weren't even born when we were fighting in Vi-"

"Don't remind me").

And of course there is Grantaire, the resident drunk. He appears to not be good for much, but he's mild-mannered and dry-humored, which is a welcome change from her father ("If you think any of my fetishes are weird, if you recite Homer to Grantaire he'll have a hard-on before any ladies are even mentioned." Courfeyrac teases.

Bahorel rolls his eyes. "Still not weirder than some of yours."

"Wait, what are your fetishes?" Éponine asks, curious.

Jehan fills in, his brown eyes sparkling. "If you start to sing-"

"JEHAN."

"-any song from-"

"CAN WE NOT."

"-Wicked, you'll be up against the wall before you know what's happening."

"Do you speak from experience?" Enjolras snorts from the driver's seat. Jehan blushes)

And last but not least, oh certainly not least is Enjolras, the handsome leader of the bunch. He's stoic in every sense of the word. His appearance is that of unbreakable marble; he might as well be a statue in a museum. His demeanor is just as frigid as his appearance- pale and icy ("He is Apollo, doomed to spend a lifetime with us mere mortals!")

She feels, in a thirty minute's drive, that she knows most of them better than she knows herself. It's more than enough to keep her mind off the trifling matter that the undead have taken over until Enjolras stops the car with a murmured curse.

"What is it, Enjy?" Asks Courfeyrac.

"Don't call me that." Enjolras responds, icily. "There's no gas left in any of the station's we've passed- we're gonna have to get out in Savannah." He checks the meter on the car

"What do you mean- Oh." Joly says, staring out the window. "Well, I mean we can't stay inside the car. I have a condition so I can't stay in hot places, you know, and if we get out then we'll be walking and the south is far too hot for anyone who is human to even consider being outside for too long and-"

Joe is cut off by the taxi driver putting his hand over the other's mouth. When Joly stops squirming, the unnamed man removes his hand. Joly scowls in his direction. "Do you know how many germs are carried on the human hand?" But he leaves it at that, rubbing his lips and the skin around his mouth.

"Hey, when did you get here?" Enjolras frowns from the front seat. The guy rubs his shaved head and looks bashful.

"I was the taxi driver? You guys kinda took over…." He doesn't seem to be particularly angry about it, which is surprising to Éponine. With the few items she owns- er owned-, she would kill anyone who took something of hers.

"Sorry 'bout that." Kind Combeferre says, his glasses kind of askew on his nose. "So what's your name?"

"Joseph Lesgle, but you guys can call me Bossuet." He says kindly, looking around the car and observing all of them slowly. Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan, Joly, Éponine and a slumbering Jack. "And no need to be sorry, I just have really bad luck. You guys probably saved my life, otherwise I would be one of them…"

Éponine squints her eyes and observes Bossuet closely. Her eyes widening, her fingers flit to the wallet in her pocket. Could it….

"Just to think, I thought today was terrible when I lost my wallet! Don't think I'll have much use for that anymore." He laughs, and his cheeriness is almost contagious.

Going against everything she's taught herself, she places the wallet on his lap and looks away guiltily. "I don't have much use for it either."

He stares at her with his dark brown eyes wide and his mouth in a large 'O'. Uncomfortable, Éponine lies on the ground and feigns sleep, fitting comfortably at the feet of these boys with her little brother tucked against her.

The hum of the engine when Enjolras starts to drive again must lull her to sleep, for when she awakes, the car is no longer in motion and everyone is talking at the same time, causing her head to pound. The car air conditioning has obviously stopped working, for the warmness of the fall day seeps through the windows and burns her skin.

She sits up sleepily, supporting her arm against Courfeyrac's knees. Enjolras's "Hush" breaks through the babble and they all go quiet immediately. Jack has somehow detangled himself from her, and is now perched on Grantaire's lap, looking out the window with a strangely serious expression on his face.

Something is wrong. Éponine stands so that her shoulders are stooped against the roof of the car. What she sees turns her blood cold.

-line-

**Olo Eopia03: **Hiii :D  
Nice chapter :) the grammar is great, and I'm impressed that you kept your tenses from switching, which is good.

The first thing I though t though while reading this was : AHH WORLD WAR ZZZZZZZZ!  
haha but great story :D

I love how you introduced each of the people in the awesome team of eight :D not only was the background info interesting, but the fun little things in the parentheses give your characters so much more development :D

Keep it up! Love the creativity and awesome shout out ;D

-Olo Eopia03

**Chrnarnia3: **Hahaha oh my gosh I love this so much! XD Please update soon! I love you for making this, but I hate you for killing Gavroche. And in the first chapter too. Shameful... Jk, but seriously

**EbonieCourfeyrac: **Very good! I loved the little back stories you gave to each of the Amis. 'They're practically married' has to be my favourite! :P


	7. Don't Let Me Burn

**Title: **Don't Let Me Burn

**Summary: **This new world is so confusing, but they make it make sense. Dystopian/Apocalyptic AU**.**

**Rating: **K+

* * *

There were six people in each house. Enjolras was put in a house with Combeferre from Boston, Joly from Washington, Cosette from Florida, Feuilly from Georgia and Bossuet from Alabama. He was from New York, a slightly unemotional white boy who found a confidant in Combeferre.

The house next to theirs was often in shambles. At night, either loud laughter or shouting would break the quiet night, causing Enjolras to mumble angrily into his pillow. Although, the loudness of the neighbors keeps his memories from taking over.

* * *

_He remembers his mother, bloodied and barely breathing, reaching for him. His father is already dead on the ground. He tries to take her hand with his own trembling one, but there's a final gunshot from the shadows and she collapses to the ground._

* * *

However, in the mornings all of them were annoyed. Even mild-tempered Combeferre came trampling down the rickety stairs with bags under his eyes and a scowl on his face (Paired with his warm brown eyes it was a strange look indeed).

They've only been there in that place for three days when Enjolras decided that he'd had enough. He stomped over the small square of grass allotted to each house and bangs his fist on the door. He heard a scramble from within the house, indicating an argument over who was to answer the door.

Once that bland door opened, his heart stopped. Standing there was an all too familiar figure. How he knew her…

* * *

_He is dragged from his house and thrown in an unceremonious heap on the ground. He is dizzy from a head injury, but he manages to scramble to his feet and run. He doesn't know where he's going, but it feels good to think that he can get away. He ends up bent over, wheezing, and standing in a bad neighborhood._

_The houses here are burning too. He hears a loud, high pitched scream from one of the fiery shacks and he runs to it. Every boy has his hero complex and Enjolras's is more intense than most. He stumbles into the inferno, following the shouts._

_He comes around the bend to see a beautiful teenage girl crying and rocking a bloody boy. There are five bodies surrounding them and Enjolras thinks he sees a gun pointed from the shadows at the barely breathing child. He runs to the two of them and yanks her up._

_The boy falls to the ground with a whine and, sure enough, a gunshot ends all sounds from the blond preteen. The girl screams and claws at him, but her grief makes her weak and so he tosses her over his shoulder and walks her out._

* * *

"You." She hissed. Her dark eyes narrowed and she went to close the door, but he stuck his foot there.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry about, you know, saving your life, but I need to talk to your roommates." He said, impatiently. The girl made no move to change their positions, and they stared the other down.

Finally she spoke, "You killed Gavroche."

"Your brother?"

"Yes." As if that news made his case more legitimate, she opened the door and allowed him to step in the house.

* * *

_The world is on fire. Enjolras had always loved the contrast of reds and blacks, but now all he sees are flames and ashes. His world blown to dust._

_There are men in uniform, escorting a small crowd to cars. The crowd is dazed, they are all coming down from adrenalin highs and have no energy to fight. Even then, Enjolras's heart thumps as he's shoved in the back of a moving truck with a group of other survivors._

* * *

"Enjolras, I need to t-" Cosette came right behind him when suddenly she stopped, her blue eyes wide and her puffy mouth opened in an 'o' shape. Enjolras looked at the landing of the staircase, where he saw a brunette boy gazing down at Cosette as if she was something from a fairytale. The dark-haired beauty laughed hollowly at the display of 'love at first sight'.

"So apparently the two of you like to waltz in and ruin people's lives. Have a seat." She was bitter even as she offered them the floor to sit on.

"Hey, yo, 'Ponine, who was at the door?" A burly man-boy stomped past the wide-eyed one and promptly took a seat next to Enjolras, who winced. The floor shook beneath the human mass.

"Oh, just a pair of life ruiners." She said casually, gesturing towards Cosette (who was still transfixed) and Enjolras. The massive one saw the former and made a face.

"You can do better. I'm still single, right?"

"In your dreams, Bahorel." She snapped, but a smile graced her lips even so. She turned to Enjolras, all kind emotion immediately erased in favor of a frigid demeanor. "So, what do you want?"

"Um…" Enjolras felt awkward now that he was actually face-to-face with the loud neighbors. "You guys are kinda-" Just then, a loud yelp sounded from the floor above as well as a suspicious crashing noise. Enjolras rolled his eyes and continued, his motive encouraged. "Loud. Very, very loud."

"Sorry about that. You can leave now." The girl, 'Ponine, said, smiling tightly. She grabbed his upper arm with surprising strength and tugged him to the front door, grabbing Cosette on the way.

* * *

_When Enjolras's eyes adjust to the brightness after being in the dark truck, he's lost. It looks like a suburb, but there are no stores or schools. It's just rows upon rows upon rows of small, nondescript houses. One of the uniformed men gives him a number and sends him on his way._

* * *

"Just… Try to keep it down, okay?" He fitted in before she closed the door. She gave him pause, and then her head snapped up. Her eyes glinted with a mischievous glee and she shook her head.

"I don't think so, pretty boy."

Enjolras returned to his house with a dreamy Cosette. His spirits were both dampened and lightened. How that was possible, he did not know. Combeferre commented on it that night when they sat in a circle on the floor, listening to the rambunctious fun coming from the house next door. Combeferre swallowed a chewy chunk of meat (the food they received had no label and no taste, rendering it unable to label) and said, "Something's on your mind."

"No." he said, knowing in his heart that it was a lie.

* * *

Marius and Cosette became a pair, rarely seen without the other. Enjolras learned quickly from the small, russet haired girl her new boyfriend's name as well as his opinion on just about everything. He burned with desire to scream at her "NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR LONELY SOUL, COSETTE!", but she was too sweet for him to gain the gall to do it.

He decided immediately that he didn't like the boy. Sure, Marius was smart and well spoken, but he was very clueless and oblivious in the ways of the world (to be fair, in this new world of theirs, everyone was clueless).

Enjolras saw the girl again when she came one day to retrieve Marius for curfew. He was the one to open the door to her.

She was dressed in the plain top and trousers that they were all ordered to wear, but somehow the top molded to her slim body and the trousers hugged her thighs. The pale color made her tan skin and dark hair all the more prominent.

"Éponine." She said as a way of reason. He raised his eyebrow, causing her eyes to roll in her head. "My name."

"I'm Enjolras." He told her. She rolled her eyes _again_.

"I know, I'm not stupid. I'm here for Marius."

Something about her stuck with him, and he couldn't sleep on his pillow (the hardness of the cushion had nothing to do with it) or his mattress (of which the lumpiness did little). He couldn't sleep in general, even though the house next door was more tolerable in their volume.

He blamed Éponine.

* * *

He was the one to comfort her when they took away her friend.

The men in uniforms came early in the morning, and Enjolras watched from the window as an ugly, black haired boy was dragged from the house. The boy called Bahorel was holding back a screaming Éponine as she reached for him.

The next day, everyone was taken from their respective houses and brought to a large, empty space. The space wasn't entirely empty, though. There was a single structure that rose from the ground with an ominous air that chilled all of them to the bone.

It was a tall frame with a rope hanging from it, tied in a noose.

Enjolras found her in the crowd and grabbed at her hand. He didn't know why he did it, but it felt right. She looked up at him in surprise but made no move to remove their contact.

The boy was pushed to a platform on which he stood with shaking legs. A burlap sack was pulled over his head and a man read aloud, "Nicolas Grantaire, to be executed on the crime of alcoholism."

_The crime of alcoholism?_

It happened in seconds. The noose was wrapped around his neck and the platform tugged away, sending Grantaire down towards the ground. His feet were inches from the dead grass when his neck snapped, causing his limp body to dangle from the medieval structure.

Éponine stood there with her mouth agape and her eyes shining, unable to do anything. She made a choking sound in the back of her throat and Enjolras didn't hesitate to wrap her against him.

It was the first of many executions.

* * *

She came to him one night, her pale face lit by moonlight as she climbed through his window.

"They're insane."

He didn't have to ask what she means. The two of them, with the assistance of their remaining house members, have been planning a revolt against it. He was the unofficial leader, the one with the grand ideas and equalitarian morals.

"You know why they're killing people, right?" Éponine asked, licking her lips. "Disease. They want us to be pure. I'm going to be next, Enjolras," He watched helplessly as her face crumpled. "I have asthma. They're going to kill me."

"No, they're not, Éponine-" He grabbed her face with his hands and made her look at him. "I won't let them."

"You're going to set the world on fire." She said, firmly, randomly. He looked at her quizzically, only for her full lips to quirk into a smirk. "Again."

"Again." He agreed.

* * *

**Iceangel129: **I don't even know what to say... I was captivated from the first sentence and did not want this to end! Thanks for sharing. Until next time :)

**Princess Unikitty: **cool idea for a story. i liked the dialogue.


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